London's Burning
by Swim Until You Can't See Land
Summary: Only one thing is certain - if Shepard doesn't bring help soon, there won't be an Earth left to save. But what if there is no help? What if all that is left are the scattered remains of the Arcturus fleet? Inspired by new ME3 trailer. Shepard/Alenko.


Inspired by the new trailer for ME3

* * *

**London's Burning**

**

* * *

**

_London's burning, London's burning._

_Fetch the engines, fetch the engines._

_Fire fire, Fire fire!_

_Pour on water, pour on water._

_London's burning, London's burning._

Jane Shepard cannot believe her eyes.

In this moment, she is not Commander Shepard, the Spectre. She is not Commander Shepard, captain of the Normandy SR2. She is not even Commander Shepard, Alliance Marine. She is simply Jane Shepard, and in her eyes is the ghost of a little girl who fought and scrapped amongst the Tenth Street Reds. A little girl who was stubborn and volatile and lost, until a passing Alliance scout had plucked her from obscurity and given her a purpose in life. The little girl is watching now, her eyes blinking furiously, as if trying to wish away the scene unfolding in front of them. Her home is being destroyed, and there is nothing she can do about it.

'Shepard?'

The soft rumble of a turian's voice brings her from her thoughts, with not so much of a sharp tug as a gentle reassurance. She turns around to face him, hoping for some sign of encouragement from the stalwart soldier, a sharp smile or a glimmer of his old recklessness. But even Garrus cannot provide her with anything other than despair and hopelessness. His keen blue eyes offer no warmth, merely a hard grittiness that sends Shepard's stomach plummeting, as if gravity has given way beneath her.

'We've got a feed on the monitors,' he explains, jerking his head towards the comm. room. 'Anderson thought you should know.'

She nods, but turns her face back to the starboard observatory viewport, lightly pressing her fingertips against the cool glass. Outside, space is dark. It looks different, nothing like the old vids from home. _Home_. Home is burning, burning brighter than any of the cold, black stars out here in dead space. People from home look up at the night sky and see beauty and adventure. They imagine vivid starbursts and the rainbow, hazy clouds of nebulae. Shepard has seen enough of the galaxy to know better. Space is cold and unforgiving. Merciless, just like the forces that are at this moment raining fire upon Earth. Her planet. Her home.

'Shepard.'

This time it is the clipped voice of David Anderson that interrupts her bleak staring contest. She watches as he follows her gaze out the viewport, giving nothing away but a tightening in his jaw and the slightest hitch of the chest. Of course, unlike Garrus, it is his planet too. He knows, he understands. But he cannot show it. Just like Shepard cannot show it. Butcher of Torfan, Saviour of the Citadel, Hero of the Galaxy…whatever she was, whatever she _is_, she has to be infallible. Because if Commander Shepard fails, what hope does anybody else have?

She follows Anderson to the comm. room, passing by various members of the Normandy's crew as she treads carefully in her old mentor's shadow. Some avert their eyes, too filled with fear or pity to meet her gaze. Others stare at her with such desperate hope that she cannot bear to look. She is grateful when the door to the comm. room slides open with a gentle whirr and closes again behind her, with a sense of somewhat irrevocability.

The room is not as empty as she first expected. All the senior human crew members have gathered around the holographic transmission in the centre, each expression as overwhelmed as the next. Jacob, stoic and unflinching, with crossed arms and his face drawn grimly. Jack, her tattooed skin and shaved head belying the helplessness painted upon her face. Even more noticeable were the absences. Miranda, whose resignation had cost her dearly at the hands of Cerberus. Ashley, whose sacrifice on Virmire had saved them all so long ago.

'Ma'am?'

Someone clears their throat behind her and she turns to find Kaidan Alenko at her shoulder. He gives her a nod that is a little too stiff to convince her that any ill-feeling between them has dissipated even in light of recent events. As she meets his gaze something in his expression flickers, and for a moment she can almost pretend that he is still her staff-lieutenant in a time long before threat and betrayal and invasion. Then the moment is gone, and he smooths his face back into a mask of impassivity, aloof and formal, though more than a little tense.

Someone gives a pointed cough and Shepard turns her focus to the centre of the room. It is only now that she notices the scenes that are unfolding in the blurry projection in front of her. The flickering pictures are filled with static and jump in and out of her vision. It doesn't seem real. It can't be real. And yet, out the viewport of the SR2, she has witnessed the chaos from afar herself. They have struck. They have finally stuck.

* * *

London, England. 2187. It's burning. The air is thick with smoke and dust and the stench of rotting bodies. There is a roaring of engines that drowns out the sound of screams. Explosions burst intermittently, turning stone and stature into rubble. An Alliance soldier grimaces as he injects medigel into a wounded leg. He seeks solace in a tower that has stood proudly for centuries, overlooking the Thames like a sentinel. But like the rest of the city, Big Ben is nearing destruction. The glass from its once-ornamental face lies in shattered shards around the soldier; its great metal arms are twisted and skewered.

'Two million dead in the first day,' rasps the soldier, his voice guttural and heavy, thick with pain and sheer hopelessness. He taps his omni-tool to check that the recording is working. 'Another seven million by the end of the first week. Every defence annihilated. All our forces on the run. Regrouping…somewhere.'

He lifts his Incision sniper rifle, peering through the scope into the ruins below. Two frail figures and stumbling through the wreckage, pursued by a human-like creature screaming venom and blazing madness from behind its dead eyes. A husk.

'Reports are coming in from other major cities. It's a well-coordinated attack.' The creature advances on its prey – not a slow, stealthy prowl, rather a blind, frenzied dash. The soldier squeezes the trigger. There is a bang, and the husk is thrown backwards into the crumbling pile of dirt and mortar and filth. 'And so far it's been damned effective.'

Beads of perspiration begin to group together on the soldier's temple, and as he wipes them away, his hand comes away bloody. He clenches a fist. He knows he won't last much longer. He knows none of them will. The situation is hopeless. If only…if only…

A sudden flash of blinding white light interrupts his sombre thoughts, causing him to strain his eyes in an effort to see. And as soon as he does catch a glimpse, he wishes he hadn't. The machines have finally found him.

'Don't know what they are, what they want, or where they came from. Only one thing is certain…' the soldier breaks off as a beam of red light hurtles his way, jetting from the great hulk of metal and bulk that is slowly advancing from the sky. Outside, smoke billows as more and more of the ships appear, tearing up everything across the horizon. Alliance gunships are swat away like flies, sent crashing to the ground in insignificance compared to the might of the alien machines. It won't be long now.

'If Shepard doesn't bring help soon, there won't be an Earth left to save.'

* * *

She can feel their eyes on her. All of them. So much expectation. And why not? Butcher of Torfan, Saviour of the Citadel, Hero of the Galaxy. And at the same time, the little human girl who ran with gangs and got lucky. A little girl who is watching her home burning in front of her. She looks into the deep, dark eyes of David Anderson. Her old captain looks old and weary; too tired to fight any longer but too honourable to give up. His gaze is angry and broken – Anderson was born in London. Shepard wonders if he has any family there. She never asked him.

'Orders, Commander?' It's Alenko who speaks, to Shepard's surprise.

She swallows. 'Joker? I don't suppose I need to ask if you were listening?'

There is a hiss of static before the reply from the dry-humoured pilot. 'Hey they don't call me "Scuttlebutt" for nothing, you know. Besides, what else was I meant to do, enjoy the view?' He gives a sarcastic snort but Shepard has known him long enough to hear the fear through his indifferent tone.

'Make yourself useful and link us to a comm. buoy. I want Hackett and anything that remains of the Arcturus fleet.'

'The Reapers are sending out some sort of jamming signal, Commander. EDI can overwrite it but it's going to take a while.'

'All right, Joker.' Shepard rubs her temples, casting a quick glance at the various gazes throughout the room. 'Everybody take a moment. Get some rest, clean your weapons, do what you need to prepare. I need everybody ready when the time comes.' She gives a sharp nod. 'Dismissed.'

She watches her crew, her friends, slowly filter out of the room before leaving herself, heading up to the peaceful refuge of her captain's quarters. The cool blue glow from the huge wall fish-tank calms her nerves, and she takes a seat at her private terminal, scanning through her messages. Her eyes linger on a saved email that she has read a thousand times.

_Shepard,_

_I'm sorry for what I said back on Horizon. I spent two years pulling myself back together after you went down with the Normandy. It took me a long time to get over my guilt for surviving and move on. I'd finally let my friends talk me into going out for drinks with a doctor on the Citadel. Nothing serious, but trying to let myself have a life again, you know?_

_Then I saw you, and everything pulled hard to port. You were standing in front of me, but you were with Cerberus. I guess I really don't know who either of us is anymore. Do you even remember that night before Ilos? That night meant everything to me...maybe it meant as much to you. But a lot has changed in the last two years and I can't just put that aside._

_But please be careful. I've watched too many people close to me die - on Eden Prime, on Virmire, on Horizon, on the Normandy. I couldn't bear it if I lost you again. If you're still the woman I remember I know you'll find a way to stop these Collector attacks. But Cerberus is too dangerous to be trusted. Watch yourself._

_When things settle down a little... maybe... I don't know. Just take care._

_Kaidan_

Shepard powers off the terminal and closes her eyes, suddenly weary. First the heretic geth, then the Collectors, and now the Reapers. Eden Prime, Freedom's Progress, Horizon…and now they are going after Earth. Her home. Humanity's home. And there is nothing she can do about it. It's a suicide mission – she knows this. The Reapers are too many, and the human fleet is too thin. The Council refuses to send reinforcements, and she can no longer afford to wait for other allies. The krogan, the geth, the quarians…Shepard hasn't heard from Wrex, Legion and Tali for weeks, and she realises that she is now faced with the inevitability of humanity fighting this unwinnable war alone. Not that she lets anybody else onto the odds. She remains, to her crew, as enduring and unfailing as ever. Because if Commander Shepard doesn't believe they can win, then what hope is there left?

'I guess they made some improvements on the old Normandy, didn't they?'

Shepard spins around in her chair, but she already recognises the dry timbre of Kaidan Alenko's voice. His words are light, but she does not mistake the bitterness as he struggles over the word _they_, as if he cannot bear to bring himself to say _Cerberus_. The rogue Alliance black-ops unit that had wrought so much destruction over the past few years. The reason he had left her on Horizon, branding her a traitor in front of her own crew. Some things are not easily forgotten, or forgiven.

Shepard shrugs, trying to appear casual. 'It's a bit roomier than my old quarters.'

'I know,' he replies, an edge of coolness in his voice. 'I remember.'

_Even if you don't_, the silence seems to say.

She stares at him for a minute – a hard, unyielding glare that stronger soldiers have withered under. But Alenko doesn't bat an eyelid, merely stares back with a calm, measured expression on his own features. 'You're giving up,' he says, his voice even.

She swears under her breath. 'Nobody is giving up. We just need to – '

'I know you, Shepard. You might be able to convince the rest of the crew but I see through the bullshit. You're giving up and I want to know why.'

She looks at him, shaking her head. 'Everybody is going to die. You, me, the crew, everybody on Earth. It's already over. We're just too stubborn to realise it yet.'

He looks confused. 'But the back-up…'

Shepard laughs bitterly. 'What back-up? The Council have abandoned us again. Wrex, Legion and Tali are gone. Even with their forces it was always going to be a long shot, but at least they would have been _something_. But we're alone, just humans fighting for ourselves.'

'The crew think they'll arrive in time.'

'I know,' murmurs Shepard, going back to her private terminal and pulling up a holo of Earth. She is vaguely aware of Alenko standing behind her, but all she can focus on are the flickering images of death and destruction. She feels her jaw tighten and her hands tremble. 'I never thought this would be how I returned home.'

She feels a hand on her shoulder. It is warm and gentle; comforting, almost. 'Me neither.'

She reaches up, and puts her own hand on top of his. Their fingers find themselves intertwined, and for a brief, blissful moment, they are back on the old Normandy, and things are just like they were always meant to be. But all too soon, the illusion is over, and when Shepard speaks again, her voice is almost a whisper. 'I don't want to die.'

He is silent for a moment, finally letting out a heavy sigh filled with longing and regret and a hundred other emotions that he can't even begin to place. He struggles to find words, so he repeats himself, allowing a gentle squeeze of Shepard's hand. 'Me neither.'

* * *

The reinforcements would never arrive. During her final moments, Jane Shepard would agonise over whether she had made the right decision in rushing in without back up, but had she waited, it would have made no difference. The krogan made it to the Exodus Cluster before encountering Reaper forces, but it was not far enough. The Reapers achieved in days more than the salarians had in centuries. The krogan were all but wiped out, and those few who escaped the massacre knew that before long, the race of sentient machines would catch up with them, too.

The quarians didn't even make it past the Hades Gamma Cluster. The Flotilla was in poor shape compared to most fleets, their ships old and in need of repair. Despite their technological genius, the machinists didn't have the firepower to withstand the might of the Reapers. Their fleet was decimated within hours, and the scattered remains blown apart by the unforgiving main guns of their pitiless attackers. The remains of the fleet would drift in deep space for months, even the bravest mercenaries not daring to venture near lest the machines return.

The geth encountered their own problems in the Horse Head Nebula. Under Reaper indoctrination, the heretics boosted the enemy number and though the battle was long fought over several weeks, with numerous Reapers being destroyed, power and might soon outweighed sheer number and the remaining geth scattered to the edges of the galaxy, biding their time with the patience only machines can truly have.

Shepard herself proved to be exemplary of her species' stubborn refusal to submit, even in the face of insurmountable odds. Even as the Arcturus fleet was torn into pieces, even as the Normandy SR2 itself was shot down in a blaze of smoke and flame, she pushed on. One by one, her team fell by the wayside. Jack, split off from the group and swarmed by husks. Grunt, crushed by a pile of falling debris as yet another building was turned to ash and shrapnel. Kaidan Alenko himself lay broken at her feet, the memory of a smile upon his features before their final goodbye.

Then she had been alone, gasping for breath, each second becoming more and more painful. Everything was blurred and hazy – the sky was yellow and black and filled with dark shapes inflicting destruction and terror upon her home. She coughed ash and dust, feeling glass and sand beneath her fingers on the cold ground. Something enormous and immeasurable was advancing upon her, with an unavoidable, inexorable sense of purpose. She closed her eyes one last time, remembering a world where everything was shiny and new, when she could see the sky above her and enjoy the sound of silence. As darkness closed around her, she found herself remembering the words to a children's nursery rhyme – a silly song that brought her some strange sort of ironic comfort as she softly, slowly, slipped away.

_London's burning, London's burning._

_Fetch the engines, fetch the engines._

_Fire fire, Fire fire!_

_Pour on water, pour on water._

_London's burning, London's burning._


End file.
